


New World Order

by sadlittletiger



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Impregnation, Incest, M/M, Orgy, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlittletiger/pseuds/sadlittletiger
Summary: The year is 2041.  All false gods are dead and only the true believers were spared.  Prepare to atone.





	New World Order

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ticklefish](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ticklefish).



> This piece was written in 2011 for a friend who has since left the fandom. I haven't edited it since I wrote it, so there may be some errors, and it's not as polished as the stories I write today. 
> 
> The actual content is pretty awful and if you have any triggers of a sexual nature, turn back now. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> slt.

 You exist for Him.

It is the year 2041.

You were born in the year 2010 to parents you never knew.

You don’t have a name.

Names were abolished in 2010, the year of your birth.

You don’t need a name.

You exist for Him.

* * *

 

In the darkness, you cannot see.

You hear your sisters sleeping, dreaming.

Some of them are fucking. You hear their sighs and the secrets of their bodies as another sister explores them. You feel a pair, close to you, climaxing, shivering in each other’s arms.

The air is warm and damp with sex.

You don’t partake although it’s not for lack of desire.

It’s just that you are single-minded. The most single-minded of all your sisters.

You exist only for Him.

He knows this. He sees it in your eyes, in your way. He holds you above the other sisters.

A foul creature, a maijini, unbolts the door and throws it open. Light tumbles in, illuminating the painting that is your life - sisters around you, beautiful naked sisters, cradling one another, touching, rubbing, reaching. They lay on garnet pillows, hide beneath silk and velvet as they play and wait for Him.

A New World Harem.

At the promise of His touch, your sisters are up, squinting in the harsh light, pushing each other, clawing at and stepping over the bodies they were making love to moments before. They cry like children, beg for the beast to take them to Him.

They would do anything to share His bed.

But the maijini points to you.

You rise and walk through the pride to him. They part for you and glare, judge.

Everything else fades away - the envious whispering of your sisters, their heat and softness, the jealousy in their stares.

Again? asks one.

Always, a reply.

He’ll have no other. She’s bewitched Him, the sister to your right hisses.

Perhaps He’ll breed her, someone mumbles.

You imagine that - your belly full of His child, breasts full of milk for His progeny... for Him, feeding Him. It seems almost impossible... but He might... He might...

You’re already wet and now you ache so that walking is difficult.

You follow the maijini.

You exist only for Him.

* * *

They Prepare you in the Bathing Chamber.

You’re rubbed with a sacred oil. It is the scent He prefers, the scent that works Him into a frenzy. You know it well.

The marble slab beneath you grows hot under skin. You are the cause in your feverishness. You burn for Him.

You wish for nothing but the end of Preparation.

They have bathed you and shaved you - underarms, legs, and the secret place.

Not all of it, though.

He likes some hair here - a thin strip, short and dark. It reminds Him of how different you are from Him. He has no hair. He is smooth.

They smudge your eyes with iridescent color, paint your lashes pitch black, stain your lips the hue of crushed berries, bronze your cheeks so that you are “sun-kissed”.

You have never seen the sun.

He is the sun of the New World.

All other suns were declared false years ago.

They help you up.

You see yourself in the water of the Bathing Pool, in the candlelight.

You glisten, your skin golden. You are small - they measure your height in archaic units that no one has use for anymore (four feet and eleven inches). You know only that you are the tiniest of your sisters, who tower over you like fabled Amazonian women.

He likes the helplessness that comes with your stature, the way He can control you and move you, though He could control and move anyone He chooses.

He likes the curve of your breasts - a handful each. He likes the way they are pert and full even when he has you on your hands and knees - they do not sag or hang unpleasantly in any position. He pinches and pulls and suckles them for hours at a time, until they are so sore you cannot bear anymore and tears run down your cheeks.

Maybe He is testing them for when He calls you to fulfill your purpose (to bear His young).

He likes the way your spine can arch no matter how He takes you. He likes to watch your body bend and respond and open when one of your brothers fucks you while He watches.

Sometimes, when you lay beneath or ride the brother of His choice, He pets you both, His hand gliding over the skin of necks, backs, asses; His hand between you, on bellies, breasts, and down further, helping, guiding, teasing.

The maijini tugs on the delicate chain around your throat.

It’s time.

* * *

He reclines, nude, on the throne of a bed. Eyes of fire.

The doors shut behind you.

“Come.”

His voice makes you hurt.

You drop to your hands and knees and crawl across the cold, hard floor to the bed, the beautiful leash dragging between your legs. It makes a distinct metallic scrape on the stones.

Every cell in you needs.

You kiss Him twice - the top of each of each pale Foot, in reverence.

You wait for Him to invite you, eyes down.

He moves, grabs the leash, yanks you up onto the bed by it. You gasp and know He will be cruel tonight.

He wraps the chain around His Fist, over and over, until you are inches from His Face. You close your eyes, feel His breath fan over your ear, your cheek, your mouth as He studies you. He inhales, deep. You wait (plead/beg/scream out) for His approval.

“I can smell how ready you are, girl.”

You swallow, lick your lips. They part, you pant.

“Have you let them touch you? Have you lain with them, your wicked sisters?”

You shake your head no.

“No? Are you sure?”

His fingers dip between your thighs as you kneel on the bed. His touch is rough... then gentle. He finds you slick.

“You are awfully wet for a girl who has refused the touch of another...” He parts the lips of your sex and strokes you with the pads of His fingers without entering. His other hand tightens on the lead, pulling you even closer, so that His cheek is against yours. You gasp again and feel Him smile.

“Have they pleasured you? Yes?”

You wait for permission.

“Tell me what they’ve done to you, girl. Tell me how they’ve used your body.”

“I exist only for Your pleasure,” you manage.

His fingers, soaked, move up, caress your hidden clit. You whine. He tugs the leash - hard.

“I exist only for Your pleasure,” you repeat, desperate. “I have never felt the touch of another outside of Your will.”

He hears the truth in your voice and lets go of the lead.

“Lie down.”

You obey, your thighs shaking with anticipation. You wait, day and night, for this moment, for His attention.

He moves between your legs, you feel His hipbones touching your own. You begin to arch. He holds both of your wrists above your head, pinning you beneath Him.

He’s tied you up before. He does not anymore. You are good at His commands, able to stop yourself on His word, capable of holding off your own desire so that you have more room for His will.

Holding you still this way, He reaches down with His other Hand and strokes Himself. You want more than anything to watch, but you know better. He wants to see your eyes; He wants your gaze. He stares at you, unblinking.

Some sisters find this unnerving.

You find it hypnotic.

He is removed, beyond you. He honors you with His Eye contact. You are blessed and chosen.

He pumps Himself, varying the speed, varying the pressure. You can hear the difference when He changes, His own precum lubricating His efforts. He is close. His grip on your wrists is stronger, His jerking has become irregular. You watch as He closes His eyes, His head thrown back and lips pulled tight, baring His teeth.

On the brink, He pushes the head (and just the head) inside of you and cums.

This is different.

He has never done this before.

You hold your breath, knowing the thickness of Him, the way His seed tastes and the way It runs down your thighs so maddeningly. You live for the way His Muscles spasm as He ejaculates - how it almost hurts Him to cum so hard, how He needs to cum inside of a warm, pliable body, how He rides His orgasm out as you accept and submit to Him.

What He produces is sacred. Not a drop can be wasted - it must be absorbed by a contracting pussy - pulled up into a waiting womb, or devoured by a hungry mouth - savored and swallowed as the greatest delicacy in the life of a brother or sister.

He is off of you, sitting back on His Heels, His hands now pressing your legs apart, opening you further. Your hips give up, your knees falling nearly to the bed. It aches. You whimper and He smiles. He strokes the short hair above your slit, watches as His cum pearls and drips, just inside of you.

“Bring me Chris,” He commands.

An attendant rushes off, closing the double doors quietly.

He returns, seconds later, with two guards in tow.

You watch as they wrestle with a bear of a man.

He struggles and grunts, his hands wrenched behind his back, his legs trying to kick out and escape his captivity. The attendant holds a device, a control, and depresses a button.

Almost immediately, the man, this brother who has a name, collapses. The guards let him drop to the floor, where he crouches on his knees and elbows, weeping.

That’s when you notice the jewel on his chest. It glows, reflecting off the shining marble. His submission has something to do with the ruby in his flesh.

You know of this brother.

He is the Betrayer and the Beloved.

The One whose will you obey has kept this brother apart. This is the brother that is held above all others. This is the brother who is controlled and kept young with a serum.

Blasphemous tongues dare to speak about this brother - claiming that he is as strong as Him and must be drugged to stay beneath Him. You know this cannot be true, but you are intrigued.

“Leave us.”

The guards and attendants bow and obey.

The three of you are left, the sound of the brother’s weeping all that you can hear.

“On the bed, Christopher.”

The brother pushes himself off the floor. He moves as if he is fighting an invisible force. He staggers to the bed, gnashing his teeth, rigid and furious.

You are afraid. You don’t know why he fights so; you don’t know who he fights. Your confusion and fear show on your face.

The Betrayer and Beloved climbs upon the bed. He is a dark force, and you feel Him shift beside you. This new brother excites Him. You see how He stays hard, the foreskin wet with you and His own Semen.

You notice first how much hair the brother has been allowed to keep - on his chest, his arms and legs, above his cock. You wonder how it would feel to rub against him, to feel his fur down below on you. He has short hair on his jaw and down his throat. It’s a curious thing. You’ve never before seen it. You will find out how coarse it is, how it can torture delightfully. You see the tone of his skin. This too is different from what you have known. He is dark, tanned.

This brother has seen the false sun.

He draws close, crawling to Him, to you. You quiver.

The muscles of his back are defined, carved - prowling just below a sheath of tawny skin, striped with deep pink scars. He moves unlike any creature you’ve ever seen.

He smells of earth and sweat and the folds of the sister he has just finished fucking. He doesn’t smell of the sacred oil - he has come without Preparation. Your Lord and Master has invited this brother into His bed without Preparation. The idea is shocking. It changes everything.

This brother is truly Beloved.

You worry that you’re staring, so you turn your attention back to Him. You will not displease Him.

But He too is fascinated with the strange new visitor.

“Eat her.”

You lay back, ready to accept whatever He demands of you.

The brother with a name stares at your secret place. He can see how you drip what He has anointed you with. The brother hesitates.

“Eat, Chris. And don’t swallow. Share.”

The jewel in his chest glows.

You are afraid. This is not what brothers do to sisters. This is what sisters do to each other - for pleasure and kinship and trust, and to help another become ready for Making. Brothers are above this act. You have never felt the tongue of a male between your thighs.

Yet, He wills it.

This brother is an animal though, an abomination. He might hurt you.

Your body tenses.

You are shameless and spread.

His hands find your thighs. They’re rough and callused. They scratch your skin, kept so delicate and soft from the daily Preparations. He pulls you closer to him and you look up.

Eyes of fire watch you, watch the brother. You plead, silently.

_Do not let him take me. Please, My Lord._

“Oh, little fish, be joyful. This is what I wish for you. He is the most generous of your brothers.”

You nod, the only expression of your own will that you are permitted.

“Look at how she shakes,” He whispers to the brother. “She is a needy little fish. She waits for me day and night. She refuses the touch of her sisters and stays clean for me... I want you to lick her out, Chris. Put your mouth on her and suck out what I’ve left... Then feed it to her.”

The brother’s chest jewel flashes and you arch as he finds the cleft between your legs. The hair on his face scrapes the tender flesh of your thighs, the sweet wet lips of your sex. You want to cry out, but this expression is forbidden.

He laps at you - deep strokes of a broad tongue. He pushes inside and draws the nectar out of you with a pull, a suck.

You whimper as he slides up your body. Your chest heaves - you’ve never felt such a sensation. He is not anything like the sisters who have licked you there at His will. He is rough and he smells of The Wild and sex and death.

You are suddenly made to understand why they speak so of this brother.

His mouth is on yours, a seal. You open for him and feel his tongue thrust in, as rough as the rest of him. You taste the honeysuckle of his saliva, the acidic savory tang of yourself, and the slippery ropes of His ambrosial cum. You share in the brother’s experience as it trickles like molasses down your tongue, down your throat.

“Let me see,” He commands.

The brother takes a deep breath and pulls away, your mouths still connected and wet with what you’ve just exchanged. He licks his lips, and turns his face so that He does not see.

He feels emotions you cannot. He feels shame - he remembers a life before the New World, a life before Him. Shame is a concept unknown to you.

You were born for His pleasure.

There can be no shame as there is no room for it.

“Do you love your brother?”

You look at Him, swallow what He has bestowed on you. You are not sure what He wants to hear. To love another is sacrilege; to say it aloud would mean death. But He speaks as if He wants you to say, “Yes.” Fearful, you say naught, staying perfectly still under the brother.

“I love your brother, little fish,” He says quietly, calmly, as His hand comes to rest on the other’s side, runs down along the healed war-wounds, slithers between the brother’s thighs, gripping what hangs below. The brother groans, winces. Not in pain, but in pleasure fought.

“I love your brother so much that I spared his life, even when he betrayed my trust.”

The one with a name shudders as He slowly masturbates him. He struggles on scarred and thickly-muscled arms to stay above you, struggles not to collapse under His ministrations. While you were born solely for His pleasure, the Beloved is permitted to exist for selfish pleasure as well.

He leans in, His pale flawless skin on the bronzed hide of the Most Beloved. His lips are very close to his ear, but His eyes are on you as you lay suppliant and willing.

“I love your brother so much that I allow him to Make.”

You cannot hide the shock, your mouth falling slack.

_Impossible._

Your mind races immediately to whether or not He will command you to Breed with the scarred beast.

With other brothers, there is always the risk of Making. To do so with any but Him means Death for the sister who has Made and the brother whom He chooses to hold responsible.

When you’ve coupled with the brothers, for His pleasure, your sisters would take you back into their arms and Cleanse you with fragrant wine. You would silently pray to Him that you did not take with the sickness of a child not borne of His Seed.

He had honored you by laying with you in the past, but never had He indicated that He would Create using your body. He would find His pleasure with you and and your sisters, a mass of smooth pale limbs in the candlelight, winding and twining so that you rivaled the Worms That Ate the World. He would use you all - so many hungry mouths and wet cunts and swollen breasts that you felt you became one with them, imagined that you could feel every other sister’s pain and fullness and climax as if it were your own. You could hear Him grunt and curse at each peak He reached between the thighs of a fortunate sister (a sister who on some occasions was you), or on the waiting tongues of others who eagerly licked Him clean. The experiences were dizzying, lasting days and nights, yet passing in the blink of an eye.

But you would wait with bated breath after each of His orgasms had ebbed away, wait for Him to wave off His attendants and send away the ravenous sisters, wait for Him to chain you to the bed-throne, wait for Him to Choose you.

At each rejection, you would return to the pillowed harem, weeping.

You marveled at the whispered stories of the Making. A month or more of being sequestered, at His whim at all times, blindfolded, Breeding at a near-constant rate, fed only the sweetest fruits by hand. The Chosen said that He could smell when He had succeeded, knew the very moment they Made.

“Would you like to know a secret, tiny fish?” he asks softly.

The Beloved shivers above you, his thighs shake. His hand pulls passionately at the responsive flesh in His fist. He milks the brother expertly, stopping just shy of the his orgasm.

“We sometimes Make together, bring forth Life together, so that there is no way to tell our children apart... I like this game best...” He pauses to nuzzle the brother, trembling below him. “Would you like to be bred by both of us, pretty little fish? To see who will prove strongest? Hmm?”

You sweat and tremble, afraid to breathe. Your nipples are painfully hard and the pink lips of your sex redden and plump at His words, ready to receive Him, ready to accommodate whosoever He wills you to take. He speaks to you and it is as if you have never heard the sound of His voice before. Your body threatens release though you’ve yet to have either inside of you on this night. You cannot fathom it - secured to the bed, forced over The Breeding Apparatus, having One after the other, so full of their honeyed cum that it streaks your thighs with shimmering rivulets, your wrists and ankles held captive in the Making Restraints.

You will be torn and in the agonizing pain/pleasure that only True Breeding can cause, but They will continue to have you until One succeeds.

“I would like a show first. I want to make sure you’re very ready for me.”

He claps and the attendant rushes back in. The brother is poised above you. His organ drips on your thigh. You feel it run down your skin. You stare between you, watch the glittering jewel in his chest as it glows and dims, glows and dims.

“Bring me Zero.”

Your heart jumps at His order.

Zero. The Circled One. She is the sister all other sisters aspire to be.

She is the first. She is kept young with the serum.

She is the first, the Favored, ageless.

As a child, not yet of serving years, you recall her pregnancies. She was always full and round of belly in your memory. She was the only sister to have wet nurses because He deemed her milk too sacred for another, even His Own Descendants. He decreed that His Mouth would be the only Mouth at her breast.

You remember watching Him nurse from her during Makings. You could hear His suckling, feel the ache between your legs as Zero gasped, arching and writhing under Him.

For nearly a day before He bred her, she would be forbidden to express. She would swell and suffer, the throbbing unbearable, her hands secured so that she could not help herself. She would plead with other sisters to aid her, relieve the pressure. Her begging always fell on deaf ears in the harem.

He would start the Ritual slowly, gently lapping at her enlarged breasts. Licking, kissing, until her milk would begin to let down, mixing with the sheen of His saliva. She would whimper as her body relented to Him - such beautiful noises, such exquisite expressions on her face as she let herself be enslaved by Him.

He would squeeze her breasts, relishing with His tongue the pearls of milk as they rolled down her chest one at a time.

He would pull on her distended nipples, irritating her teats so that they were pink and angry for him.

Only when Zero would shake and fight to keep silent would He feed. Deep, wet draws with His divine lips, His teeth and tongue helping to pump her, drain her. All the while, His prick was splitting the lips of her pussy, exacting pounding thrusts as she lay prone beneath him.

This was what you have dreamed of you entire life - to be a vesicle of His seed, deliver His young, produce a milk so sweet that He declares your breasts Untouchable by Any But Him.

In the arched doorway, she arrives.

She glows in the candlelight, a silvery ethereal being. Her hair is down, falling in thick white-blonde waves to just below her shoulders. You immediately notice her chest - the painful size, the map of blue veins just under the skin, the dark, wide areole on each tip. Between her breasts, you see the scar. The circular mark that sets her apart from all other sisters.

You desire that brand, that symbol of her rank.

She stands alone among you.

Your eyes travel downwards, taking in the width of her hips, the bones pushed wide where His children sit during her expectancy. It’s a magnificent flare from her slender waist. You follow her shape further, studying long, lean legs and delicate ankles. She bears no scars on her wrists or just above her feet - she is Zero, the one that He loved so fully that He refused to take her in restraints.

You stare openly at the bare little slit between her thighs. It is smooth and pillowy, the mons puffy and ready to cushion the rutting of any male. You cannot see her lips, but imagine the color of them, the smell, the taste. You can feel the muscles of your own cunt tighten in anticipation.

You pray that He will wish to see you pleasure Zero.

You want to kneel before her and lave her secret place as she stands in front of the bed. You want to eat her, suck on and nibble at her labia, hold her open with your fingers and suckle her clit in the same way that He suckles her thickened nipples.

But you are an obedient fish.

You wait for His desire to be spoken.

The brother above you watches her with sadness. His eyes betray him. You wonder why he grieves so - she is beautiful, more beautiful than any of the other sisters. She is healthy and pleasing to look upon, her curves endless, her skin flawless, her face still youthful.

Above all, she is loved by Him.

Why does the Betrayer not see her Blessed as she is?

He pats the bed, He wishes her to join the Three of you. Your heart beats so quickly, fluttering like a bird in a gilded cage. Your mind races, imagining the things He might order you to do. You know you will do all of them gladly - you live for nothing but His will. You would feast upon them, your brother and sister, and be happy that He imagined you worthy of laying them in their elevated status.

The Circled One will not look at the brother.

She too hurts.

You are confused by their emotions, so powerful and separate and unknown to you.

You know you would never feel such depth unless He asked it of you.

“Chris, make love to Jill.”

You inhale deeply, shocked yet again. This brother and sister have many names. They are so beloved that He has assigned them three each. Your head reels from all of the revelations.

Hesitant, slow, the brother moves away from you, toward Zero. He crawls to her across the bed. They kneel before each other, their eyes meeting and then retreating, studying their bodies in the candlelight. You hold your breath, waiting for their first touch, feeling electric as you watch their forbidden act - knowing that somehow, this will be a different mating, a thing removed from what you and the brothers do at His whim.

This act is sacred before it even begins because they desire this, with or without His consent.

The Beloved moves first, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing it. She closes her eyes and leans into his affection. The hand slips into her hair, down the back of her neck, pulls her to him. He tilts her head and lowers his mouth to hers.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking.

You know not why he apologizes to her.

They kiss. Deep, reverent, lost. You can see his tongue, in her mouth as it was in yours. She tastes you, tastes Him, and gasps. She doesn’t pull away though - she lets him explore her. You can see sometimes she returns it, her wet mouth and pink tongue feeling him. His hands, all the while, are on her face, and his eyes are closed against the world, against you and Him, lying so close, watching so intently.

“I’m sorry, Jill,” he whispers again. You see that now, his cheeks are wet.

He cries.

You look to her and as she takes a shaky breath, her lips swollen from his touch, you see she cries as well.

He holds her face, stares down at her, as tears fall. Her wet skin looks like gold in the candlelight. She shimmers with her sadness. Suddenly, he hugs her to his chest, his hands buried in her in hair; he tries to shield her from His eyes. He glares at your Lord. He is bold and defensive - all for his love of this sister.

He is not dissuaded, your Master. He seems almost amused.

“Take her now or see her suffer for your insolence again...” He says the words with the authority only He can have. You shiver and feel Him running His knuckles over the curve of your waist as you lie on your side, then up over the curve of your hip.

The brother resists and the device on his chest glows so intensely, you become afraid. He growls in pain. The chest plate hurts him. The Circled One shakes with her crying, turning her face against him, trying to hide.

He taps the inside of your thigh and you know this is the sign to open for Him. You had learned this when you were only a child, only in Training. You lie back, spreading for Him, your gaze still on the lovers.

He stares at your secret place, using His thumbs to open you more to His eyes. You are fearful that your body will not please Him - He has never searched you like this. Your breathing becomes irregular, your pulse picks up. What if He does not find your secret place pleasing to The Eye? What if He has you killed for it? Better Chosen have been sentenced to death for less.

He stops inspecting you. You look down the length of your body, staring at Him, waiting for a directive, an insult, a sentencing.

“Yes, little fish?”

You are unsure, silent.

“Speak.”

You are startled by this allowance. It is unheard of.

A sister. Speaking to Him.

After some seconds, you find your voice - meek and kittenish.

“Do you find me pleasing, Master? Am I Worthy?” It’s a bold question. Too bold.

You immediately regret it.

But He smiles, His fingers trailing down your spread thigh, pausing on your pleasure, His thumb circling your wicked little nub. You fight the urge to moan.

“I would see you Bred. I would see it done annually.” He watches your reaction.

It is your turn to cry. Your tears blur your vision, drip from the corners of your eyes. You cannot breathe. There are no words to describe the joy you feel. Tonight is the most important night of your life.

“I would have you join The Chosen.”

You weep, but know that He has not willed you to move. So you lie on your back, convulsing with quiet sobs. “Thank you, my Lord, thank you.”

“I will give you a name.”

You draw in a breath and blink away tears. A name.

You will have a name.

“I name you One.”

The bed shifts and you realize you had forgotten about the brother and sister. He has not forgotten - His eyes are on them, burning, as His Hands play idly with your sex; rubbing, pulling, pinching.

You look to them and see the brother has mounted her. They are wrapped up tightly in one another. All that moves are his hips as he gently thrusts. His mouth is at her ear and he whispers sweet things to her: “... soon. It’ll be over soon. I love you. Don’t give up. I love you. I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Jill.”

You don’t understand why he says these things - you cannot fathom why anyone would want this to end.

Her thighs quiver around his sides and her hands grab at him, clawing his back, trying to pull him into her, make them one. She hides her eyes in the hollow that joins his neck and shoulder. His hands are still on her jaw and throat and he kisses her cheek, her nose, her face.

They have a beautiful pace, a slow and languorous rhythm to their fucking. You watch the ripple of muscles that begins in his ass and moves up his spine. He curls under on every thrust, each movement so smooth and comforting.

You’ve seen nothing like this in your life. After all of the displays, all of the times you participated, all of the ceremonies... surely, no brother and sister were made for each other like this, none of them moved in this way, loved in this way.

They are exquisite.

“Magnificent, are they not?” He asks you.

“They are nothing in Your Light, My Lord,” you reply, bowing your head, ashamed that the brother and sister have stolen your attention from Him.

He laughs. A glorious sound. He has never graced you with laughter before.

“You’re a well-trained little fish. But look at them... such breath-taking melancholy. See how they weep as they join. They arouse me so. They always have.”

His eyes are devouring them as they sigh and undulate. There is no space between their bodies. They seem to have become one fleshy silken animal.

“Your brother and I have both Bred her.”

His body presses up against you and you feel how hard He is. You secretly pray to Him that it will hurt when He takes you. You want to be stretched and pained so that you will remember - remember in the morning, when you are sore and you ache in your secret place.

“Do you know who they are?”

You shake your head.

His thrusts are faster now, and she mewls at the top of each. They are close.

You feel His sacred breath on your face, so close to your ear. The fingers on your pussy dip in and massage your honey over your clit. He works you expertly. Your back arches and your hips yawn. You are painfully ready.

The brother reaches his climax. He is silent, but his ass pumps once, twice and a third time. Hard and deep. You can almost feel the cum, know how it jets against your cervix, pools and floods in your cleft.

You cannot help yourself and cry out, so close to your own crisis.

He smiles again, watching you watch the couple.

“They are your parents, One.”


End file.
